Songs of the Mark
by Ragnelle
Summary: Stories of Eorl the Young, told in alitteration as by the bards of the Mark. Some mistakes now edited
1. The Taming of Felaróf

**A/N: **This was orignially written for a competition some years ago on the Lotrplaza where we should make a song about the Mark. I have done some rewriting since then, and some re-structuring, but basicly it is the same. I wanted to make something a bard from the Rittermark would or could have made, that is why I choose to use alliteration, though it makes it more of a narrtive poem than a song. It is meant to be recited, not sung, but with the audience joining the little courus. I am avare that allitrative poetry usually do not have a courus, but I have made my own rules for the meter here.

I would love to get some feed-back on this, it might help me make the second song (already written) better.

Edit: A big "thank you" to MerryKK that pointed out some grammar/ spelling mistakes. I have fixed them now  
Edit 2: I recently looked at this again and saw to my great embarrassment that I had spelled Felaróf's name wrong! I have fixed it now.

**Diclaimer**: I do own a horse, but it is not Felaróf. Nor do I own anything else that Tolkien made.

* * *

**The Taming of Felaróf**

Horsemasters hear the legend of our horses!  
Silence your speech, to my story give ear.  
I will tell a tale of Eorl the Young,  
The lord that first lead us to this land.

Swiftly under the sinking sun  
Over high hills the hunters rode,  
Pursuing their prey, the proud stallion.  
First in the flock came Eorl the Young  
He sought the steed that slew his sire,  
His fury flaming hot for his father's death,  
In wrath he rode to be revenged.  
Never resting, ever running  
Forth the fast hunters flew,  
The Manbane ever before them.

The hooves of the horses hit the grass,  
Trampling the ground like roaring thunder,  
Running wild with thundering wrath,  
They drove him down into deep valleys,  
Up high hillsides they hunted the horse,  
Ever on and on till the sun sank  
The Riders rode. As the moon rose  
Under dark skies they drove him on.  
Never resting, ever running,  
Forth the fast hunters flew,  
The Manbane ever before them.

Fleeing fast to preserve his freedom  
The horse ran quickly, racing the Riders.  
Eorl was ever ahead of his men:  
"Ride!" he cried. "Ride! The race's not ended,  
Felaróf, the noble foal, shall not run free.  
The long leagues of the land will not prevent his capture,  
Compensation I'll demand from the killer of my kin!"  
Then spoke the men: "The slayer of our lord shall not escape!  
We will not grow weary of the hunt till we have vanquished our foe.  
Lead us, son of Léod; he will not elude us long!"  
Never resting, ever running  
Forth the fast hunters flew,  
The Manbane ever before them.

That first night they came not near him,  
At the dawning of the day doubt sized them,  
For their prey had parted with them, the proud hunters  
Could not find the footprints of the foal;  
The horse's hooves had not left any mark on the hard stone.  
As they searched the slopes for signs of the steed's flight  
A cry called the hunters: "Come all! To me!  
Waste no more time on tracks: to me! Come all!  
The stallion is spotted, swiftly running from us; come!"  
All the hunters heard the high voice of Eorl,  
Young and clear it called them to him,  
On a bare hill he had seen the bane of his father,  
In haste the hunt of the horse continued.  
That day they drove him down form the hills,  
Fleeing the hunters he found the forest,  
Disappearing in the dusk under the dark trees.  
Still the son would not cease the search  
Nor rest. In wrath he rode on through the night.  
As the sun burst in eastern flame, the foal broke free from the forest;  
He was like a white sail over a green sea sailing.  
His speed helped him escape the hunters hot on his trail.  
From dawn to dusk they drove him before them,  
From the setting sun till sunrise they pursued him  
Till the endless hunt was all they ever thought of,  
Till their world was nothing but the wild chasing,  
On and on and on rode Eorl,  
Never resting, ever running,  
Forth the fast hunter flew;  
The Manbane ever before him.

After days the strength of the stallion was spent;  
The hard hunt had taken its toil.  
Fearless it faced its relentless foes  
That had brought it to bay and bent its strength.  
Still proud, hooves pawing at the pursuers,  
It awaited the vengeance that would come.  
The horses of the hunters stood with lowered heads  
As the son of Léod leapt from the saddle.  
One hunter brought a bow to the bold youth  
And gave an arrow to the Éothéod's young lord,  
But gazing at the great steed he refused the offered gift.  
"Manbane!" he called. "Murderer of my father!  
Wild-runner, wind-chaser, wide-roaming horse!  
You loved your free life on the sweet grasslands,  
I blame you not for breaking free from your bonds;  
Your freedom you treasured, in that I find no fault,  
But compensation I will have for the killing of my kin;  
Payment you must give for the proud prince's death.  
Surrender your free spirit and serve me from this day,  
Give up your freedom and follow me, foal.  
This weregild you will give me, great-hearted horse,  
From this day to your death-day, then my loss is repaid."

The horse tossed his head; one hoof beat the ground,  
But Eorl stood still and moved not form the spot,  
He awaited the answer of the wild beast,  
With his hand stayed his men so the steed could decide.  
Calmly the horse came to his hand  
And surrendered his free spirit to Léod's son.  
From that day to his death he served the strong lord,  
But his pride was not broken, he obeyed no others  
And no man could mount him but Eorl the Young.

Thus came Felaróf the free to the first Lord of the Mark  
And the mearas has ever been the mounts of Eorl's kin.

My story has ceased, your speech you may resume,  
I have told the tale of the taming of Felaróf,  
The story's tread spun and laid out before you;  
Here ending the legend of Eorl the Young,  
The lord that first led us to this land.


	2. The Ride of Eorl

**A/N**: This was once writen as a story within a story, but it belongs to the story of the first chapter. I have mostly used information from UT for this poem. And though I have not written anything more of Eorl, I have the feeling that I need to do one more. I can not promise that it will be finished anythime soon though. I do not yet have any idea of the theme for that last story, and alliteration is anoyingly time-consumingto write. 

Some information that may be usefull. I have for the most part used the Rohirric names, as this is thought to be composed and told by a bard form the Mark though sometimes I have used whatever name suited the meter best. But since this story might not be very well known (being mostly from UT) and maybe not all Rohirric names are known, I have made a list of names and translations. (All information to make this list is taken from the appendixes in LotR or from UT.)

_Mundburg_ - Minas Tirith  
_Stoningland_ - Gondor  
_Cririon _(pronounced Kirion)- 12th Ruling Steward of Gondor.  
_Borondir Udalraph_ (the Stirrupless) - mesenger from Cirion. What name I use is dictated by the meter.  
_The Éothéod _(OE: horse-people) - the forefathers of the Eorlingas (or Rohhirrim, depening on which language you use)  
_The Undeeps_ - the two westward bends of Anduin  
_The Limlight _- the river that is now the north-border of Rohan  
_The Mark /Rittermark_ - Rohan (most of you know this I think)  
_éoherë_ (OE: horse-host) - the full muster of the cavalry

I hope you will enjoy, and would be very happy to hear what you think.

**Disclaimer**: Never mine.

* * *

**The Ride of Eorl**

Horselords, listen to the legend of our people,  
Silence your speech, to my story give ear.  
I will tell a tale of Eorl the Young  
The lord the first led us to our land.

Far south in the white city of stone  
Sat the worthy lord in war-troubled thought.  
The Steward of the stonemen counsel sought;  
Wisdom to win victory in war.  
No kin nor kindred had they close  
And enemies all around drew near.  
Then Mundburg's master turned his mind  
To the Northern men for help in need,  
Spoke Cirion: "Who will work his lord's will  
And find friends in far lands?  
Who will ride the wild roads  
And on paths of peril pass?  
Who will seek the horselord's halls  
And bring help from the North in dire need?"

"I will seek the horselord's halls,  
on the wild roads I will ride.  
I will pass on perilous paths  
And find friends in far lands.  
Help from the North in need I'll bring;  
I will do my lord's will."

So Borondir the Stirrupless spoke  
And sought the task so the tale tells,  
The first to speak, but five followed after;  
Six riders choose Cirion to seek their north kin.  
Two by two they travelled together,  
Two by two they went on their way.  
Two to pass the perilous paths,  
Two to ride the wild roads  
To find help from friends afar.

_Never resting, ever running  
Forth the fast riders flew  
To Mundburg's aid each man was bound._

First left Borondir with his bold companion,  
They followed the Longflood's lead at first.  
The following four fared to unknown fate;  
No tidings ever told of their bitter end.  
Six rode out, only one came through  
To the horsemaster's hall with message in haste;  
The Udalraph after dangerous days  
Came to Eorl the Young with Cirion's message.  
Fifteen days through dangers fell  
He had travelled to tell of the White Tower's need.  
To the Gladden Fields from Dol Guldur  
Where his friend fell, he flew,  
Then up the river alone he rode.  
Northwards Mundburg's messenger rode,  
Waylaid by villains he lost his way  
And long he roamed in lonely lands.  
Hard did the rider of the last hope toil,  
Picking his path through perils fell.

_Never resting, ever running  
Forth the fast riders flew  
To Mundburg's aid each man was bound._

When he arrived after his long race  
He'd not tasted food for two long days;  
He was so spent he could scarce speak  
His urgent message to the Éothéod's young lord.  
Food was fetched for the starved stranger;  
Bread brought to the bold man;  
And water given to the weary wanderer  
To quench the thirst of his troubled throat.  
But Borondir refused the offered food  
Would take only water to wet his throat  
Before Mundburg's message he could pronounce.

Spoke the Stirrupless: "Master of steeds,  
Young Eorl son of Leód, Éothéod's lord.  
The Steward of the Stoneland has sent me  
To bear a message from Mundburg's master  
And ask for aid in our need.  
The Wainriders will soon find the way to our walls;  
Our foes, bringing with them fire and flame.  
A great gathering of Gondor's foes  
Will bring dark destruction to the white city.  
This counsel Cirion took; to seek our north-kin  
And ask help from friends in far lands."  
Eorl sat silent when the message was spoken  
And pondered in thought what path he should take.  
Quickly deciding what deed he would do  
He rested his eyes on Borondir as he rose.  
Quote Eorl. "I will come to Cirion's aid.  
If the Mundburg falls, whither shall we flee  
From the gathering Darkness in days to come?"  
And as a token of his pledge he took Borondir's hand.

At once Eorl called his Elders to him  
And swiftly summons were sent throughout the land.  
He mustered his men to Mundburg's aid  
And gathered his Riders for the great ride.  
Few were left to fend for the land;  
Seven thousand, fully-armed, says the song,  
With helm and hauberk and war-horses strong,  
And hundreds of horsed archers besides  
In the éoherë that Eorl lead out were counted.  
In silence they left, leaving fear behind,  
No words were spoken nor songs sung.  
The women watched their mounted men  
Ride to unknown end unafraid.

_Never resting, ever running  
Forth the fast riders flew  
To Mundburg's aid each man was bound._

Borondir Udalraph rode at Eorl's right hand;  
The Stirrupless would serve as steersman for the lord  
Since he had passed lately though the perilous lands,  
But all that saw the strength and splendour of the host  
Fled from its path in fear for its might.  
Unbarred they came below the great Blight,  
To southern Mirkwood, by no sign of men,  
Nor spies or scouting parties could they see.  
Borondir marvelled that the Balchoth bared not  
Their road, or spied to report of their ride.  
unknown to the Riders was the reason  
That their coming was secret and their host hidden.

_Never resting, ever running  
Forth the fast riders flew  
To Mundburg's aid each man was bound._

They drew near Dol Guldur where darkness lay.  
Eorl turned westward away from the wood;  
Fearing the gloom that flowed from the fort  
He rode near the river and the Riders followed.  
On the far side the dangerous land of Dwimordene lay,  
The gleaming grove that in tales were told  
To shine like gold when spring was near.  
But a shining mist shrouded the myth-spun place,  
Passing over the flood it flowed before them.  
Alarmed they stopped, but Eorl spoke to them:  
"Ride on! Ride on, no other road  
May take us to Mundburg; shall a river-mist  
Hold us back from battle and bar our way?"  
On rode the Riders, approaching the mist  
And drawing near they saw it drove back the dark,  
The gloom of Dol Guldur gave way before it.  
Riding slowly they soon was surrounded  
By the white mist, and was weary at first.  
Under its canopy a clear light lit  
Their way with a shadowless light while  
On all sides they were guarded by with walls of secrecy.  
"It seems the Lady of the Golden Wood is on our side," Borondir said.  
"That may be," answered Eorl. "But at least I will trust  
The wisdom of Felaróf; he feels no evil.  
His heart is high, and his weariness healed:  
See how he strains to be given his head. So be it!  
More need for secrecy and speed I have never had."

Forward sprang Felaróf and the host followed after,  
Like a great wind on their way they went,  
But a strange silence over them came,  
As if the horses'; hooves did not hit the ground.  
Beating feet and breaking branches was not heard;  
A hush on the host and their horses fell.  
On they rode, fresh and eager as the morning they set forth

_Never resting, ever running  
Forth the fast riders flew  
To Mundburg's aid each man was bound._

In the dew at the dawning of the third day  
The Riders rose from their rest by the river  
And saw that suddenly the shining mist was gone.  
The leagues open lands lay before them,  
The Undeeps were in sight and the Anduin near;  
Speed beyond all hope hath brought them there  
On the ninth day since they left their Northern lands.  
Over the Undeeps Eorl rode  
With his host in haste to help the Stoningland.  
He sent out scouts to seek news of the land  
And they brought back tidings of battle and war.  
"My Lord, the land rings with rumour of war.  
Cirion is hard pressed on Celebrant's fields.  
Mundburg fights bravely but the battle is lost  
Unless we can come quickly with aid."  
"We will come," said Eorl. "When we find a way.  
Is there a path our horses can pass?"  
"I know not," the scout said. Spoke Borondir "I do!  
Follow my lead over flood and field."  
Battle-eager men Borondir Undalraph brought  
From the North with aid in dire need.  
Swords and spears to slaughter they bore  
And bowmen to battle and war they brought.  
Over the Limlight the lord led the men  
And came at length to Celebrant's Fields.

_Never resting, ever running  
Forth the fast riders flew  
To Mundburg's aid each man was bound._

Fiercely against their foes fought Mundburg's men  
But greatly outnumbered was Gondor's lord  
And the tide was turned against him;  
The victory of the Wainriders seemed certain.  
When amidst ruin and red blood and the swords' ringing  
A horn was heard from the hills calling;  
Eorl the Young had come with aid.  
Rank upon rank with Riders there were,  
Like a storm the steeds came, stamping their hooves  
In waves upon waves against the Wainriders' ranks  
The Éothéod with bright swords broke into battle.  
The voice of Eorl was heard over the war-din  
His battle-cry clear over the clashing shields  
Urging his men to battle bravely  
And they sang as they slew the fleeing foes.

The Stirrupless stormed to the Steward's aid,  
Crossing the Limlight he cleaved a path to Cirion,  
Hewing the helms and hauberks of his foes.  
Fighting on the Field he fell defending his lord  
His death mourned in Mundburg and the Mark ever after.

_Never resting, ever running  
Forth the fast riders flew  
To Mundburg's aid each man was bound._

Thus came Eorl to Cirion at Celebrant Field  
And the Ride of the Rohirim is renowned in song.  
Between Eorl and Cirion was there ever friendship  
And to Eorl Mundburg's Master gave The Mark  
That the Horselords should hold the land forever;  
In friendship freely given and freely received,  
The land whence the Éothéod were led by their Lord,  
And Rohan, the Rittermark, has after been the Riders' home.

Resume your speech; my story is done,  
The words woven and the tale-tread spun.  
My tale has told of Eorl the Young  
And how that lord led us to our land.


End file.
